


check yes, juliet

by fairytelling



Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Slow Burn, Teen Angst, youtube plays a minor role
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-02 23:26:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11519712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytelling/pseuds/fairytelling
Summary: “So, Jug, are you in love yet?” Betty asks him again.He bites his tongue and tries to swallow the swarm of ravens rising in his belly. His palms are sweaty, his knees weak, arms are heavy (like the bloody Eminem song on Kevin's road trip playlist). His head finally stops spinning when the lightning strikes; holy shit, he’s in love with Betty Cooper.Or: A hopeless romantic and her cynical best friend go on a grand quest to complete their ‘unfinished business’, which may or may not include trying to get the so-called love of her life back.





	1. unfinished business

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! logic would dictate that i should not be starting another new fic at the beginning of an academic year, but this idea demanded to be written and its one that's close to my heart. it's goofy and a little bit serious with drama at the same time, but hopefully funny and fluffy!
> 
> the title of this fic is from the iconic we the king's song which makes my tween pop punk heart swell.
> 
> please review and let me know what you think!!! 
> 
> and ofc come chat to me on [tumblr](http://fairytelling.tumblr.com)

**Day 12**

Had Betty known that a stupid email would lead to this mess, sitting in a rickety old broken down truck on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere, crying her eyes out, blubbering like a baby, makeup smeared and head-pounding to the beat of one of Archie’s stupid-ass songs, she would have never, ever let _him_ in.

But unlike Hermione Granger, she isn’t in possession of a time turner. So, here, she is, still stupidly in love with a boy who doesn’t love her back. The universe hates her, she knows it, because there’s an infinite number of universes. Yet, she’s stuck in this one.

Jughead has a point with all his pessimism, why would you set yourself up for nothing but emotional turmoil? She’s always misunderstood Jughead’s perspective and now she gets it; eighteen years too late. He’s never questioned the existence of love, he’s been questioning its purpose.

Betty really, really fucking gets it. What is the point of believing in love? Love sucks. Love aches. Love is swimming against a current, destination in sight, constantly being pushed back by endless waves, never to arrive.

Love is crying in the middle of nowhere because you want the best for someone, even if that means leaving. Love is being selfless and sacrificing.

But, easily the worst part about all of this is, even if Betty did magically procure a time-turner, she wouldn’t have wanted it to happen any other way.

 

***

**Day 0**

The beginning of the end starts with an email. It’s not even an email, it’s a blank message with a haphazardly typed subject.

**_S O R R Y. GUYs, I'm bailing on our road trip. I just had this gut feeling I couldn’t shake, I have to chase my dreams NOW!!!_ **

Betty and Jughead have been waiting for Archie for over an hour, hiding from the sweltering heat in Pop’s. Riverdale (along with Archie’s abandoned milkshake) is on the verge of melting, plastic white picket fences dropping under the sun.

And so just like that, with the chime of an iPhone, summer unravels.

“He's drunk,” is Betty's knee jerk response.

Jughead wants to agree, because who sends emails to actually communicate with their friends in 2017, unless they’re inebriated.

The pregnant pause that follows is an awful, prolonged, heady silence. Not only is Jughead's mind reeling, but he can see the panic and anxiety welling in Betty. She clenches and unclenches her fists. And considering what tomorrow is, this wins an award for the world’s worst timing.

(Betty’s always been an elastic band; she holds everything together, from their friendship to this godforsaken town. Jughead swears Archie likes to pull at her, just to see how much far she’s willing to stretch. And it’s moment like these that Jughead braces himself for the long-awaited snap.)

“What are the odds of this being a joke?” Betty asks. She pushes her milkshake away and rests her elbows on the sticky counter. Her eyes are glued to the screen, in hope her prince charming changes his mind and does everyone a solid and sweeps her off her feet.

“It could be a prank for a video.”

She sighs. “I really hope not.”

“Same.” Jughead sighs.

“This, just,” Betty’s voice cracks ever so slightly, “doesn’t fit with _The Plan_.”

Jughead is filled with icy dread, every time he hears of _The Plan_ (both T and P are capitalized to differentiate it from Betty’s other Plans). No other plan is the odd combination of a decade of pining and longing, mixed with a dash of recent trauma and a pinch of wanderlust. Betty’s always been tiptoeing the line between organized and neurotic, but The Road Trip and The Plan really take the cake. He’s never seen so many to-do lists with to-do lists, nor a road trip scheduled down to the toilet breaks.

“Just don’t worry too much,” he says, earning a glare.

There’s not much he can do to console her. How can he? _I’m sorry that Archie’s not here. I’m sorry you can’t profess your undying love for him because he’s run off (again). I wish I could turn back the clock and fix all the broken things._

So, instead the two of them just sit there, simmering in the silence that Archie’s departure has gifted them. After a painful hour of watching Betty try to reach Archie by every mode of communication (twitter, Instagram, facebook, youtube, tumblr, email, skype, text), Jughead drives her home in his dusty, rickety truck. He flicks the radio on, switches it to the local radio station, knowing that when Betty’s this upset, none of his usual sarcastic commentary will be appreciated. His frustration bubbles up like acid, but he does his best to swallow it down. Jughead grips the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles turn white. Of course, Archie jets off the moment they graduate from high school, no regard for the fact that Betty’s clearly been slavishly planning this road trip for a reason.

He huffs as he draws up in front of the Cooper’s. He can’t pinpoint how long they’re just sat there once he turns the engine off, it could be minutes, maybe even hours. They’re like a tricycle that’s just lost their front wheel; lost for direction.

Betty snaps Jughead out of his reverie as she murmurs a quick goodbye as she leaves the car. When the door shuts behind her, Jughead lets out a groan and hits his head against the steering wheel.

(Some of their viewers started calling Jughead ‘Archie’s sidekick’. A more fitting view of their friendship is that Jughead is Archie’s garbage man or, maybe even, his personal maid; left with the unfortunate role of cleaning up his best friend’s shit, every goddamn time.)

 

***

**Day 0.5**

The heat has fried his brain. It must have, it’s the only thing that explains the scene unfolding outside of Betty’s window. It starts with the sound of rocks pelting at her window, a sound that she’s accustomed to hearing. And yet when she’d opens her window it isn’t the sight she’s been feverishly fantasising for years; it’s Jughead. Jughead, holding a dysfunctional boombox (an actual blast from the past), looking just like John Cusack from Say Anything (which he knows is one of her favourites).

It’s everything Betty’s dreamed of, except with Archie, not Jughead (never Jughead).

“Aren’t you sweating like a pig out there?” she giggles, as he puts the boombox down on the dying grass and clambers up the ladder. Even in the scorching desert, Jughead will never take off his beloved beanie. Betty appreciates the consistency, however upside down life twists and turns, she can rely on two things with confidence: Jughead and his beanie.

It’s just past midnight and the temperature keeps cranking up. Anxiety and humidity don’t go well together, Betty’s mind is addled with a litany of thoughts, as to why her best friend, the literal apple of her eye, decides to leave without saying goodbye, after all that’s happened. Not to mention, she doesn’t want to think about what tomorrow (or today now) was supposed to be.

“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Juliet is the sun!” Jughead quotes and Betty bites her tongue to stifle her laughter, afraid to wake her mother up.

“I can’t believe you still remember the lines,” she says, walking down memory lane back to English Lit in sophomore year.

“Well, you made us study it like every day.”

With skill and practice, Jughead clambers into her room silently. He’s grinning at her, the lopsided grin that’s reserved for when he’s trying to cheer her up. (So, she has the pleasure of seeing it quite often.)

“What are you planning?”

“We’re going,” Jughead says.

“Where?” Betty furrows her eyebrows and plants her hands on her hips. If it was anyone else, she’d be embarrassed that she’s wearing tiny cartoon shorts, a faded sports bra and is near drowning in her own sweat, but with Jughead, being self-conscious is an alien concept.

“Archie’s on his way to Chicago,” he answers.

“To see his mom?” Betty’s face scrunches up in confusion.  

“I don’t think so. He’s probably going to stay with Veronica and Kevin.”

“ _Oh_.” It’s funny how Betty says _oh_ , when the both of them know she means _ouch._ It stings, it really does and it takes nearly all of Betty’s willpower to not dig her fingernails into her palms. “Um, how do you know?”

“I texted Kevin; he said Archie told Veronica that he was going to be staying on their couch for a week.”

“Did he mention why he was in Chicago?” She asks, looking down at the floor.

He shakes his head, not wanting to induldge further, he changes the topic. “I still want to go to Toledo-.”

“Jug-.”

“And you still have The Plan. So we’re gonna go _. No unfinished business_ , right?”

She knows that he has her hook, line, and sinker at this point.

Betty nods. “None at all.”


	2. in your dreams

_“When your thoughts can't breathe and you thinking asthmatic.” - Telegraph Avenue (“Oakland”), Childish Gambino_

**Day 0.5**

Out of three of them, Archie is The Spontaneous One. (Jughead is The Sarcastic One and Betty, well, she’s just herself, boring, borderline basket case Betty Cooper).

 

But seeing as they’re a duo now, Jughead’s taken it upon himself to step into Archie’s shoes, which certainly takes Betty by surprise. (Which just goes to show how seriously he's taking his new role.)

 

“You want to go now? Right now?” she asks, glancing at her alarm clock to double check the time.

 

The idea of leaving Riverdale to head out to Chicago at 1.20 am certainly feels spontaneous.

 

“Why not?” He replies, tugging at his beanie. Jughead perches himself at the end of her bed, watching her pace and deliberate (they’ve been here so many times). “You've been packed for nearly a month now.”

 

“I haven't.” 

 

He sniggers. “Alright, maybe I exaggerated. 3 weeks of packing?”

 

“I only finished yesterday.”

 

“But you have to admit you started a while back; I was with you when you made a list in Pop’s,” he points out.

 

Jughead is too observant; it’s probably the writer in him. At times like this, it's annoying, because it means he's almost always right about everything. But, it's nice to know that at least someone sees Betty. Even when she’s hiding.

 

“And I'm more than awake and caffeinated to drive for a couple of hours,” Jughead adds. “The humidity doesn't help, but you'll breathe better when we're out of Riverdale.”

 

“Think,” Betty corrects.

 

“It's a metaphor,” Jughead drawls, now sprawled across the bed, grubby shoes on and everything.

 

“Okay, Augustus Waters.”

 

He chuckles as Betty swats at his feet, like flies. To avoid winding her up any further, he chucks off his boots. They make a thud as they smack the carpet. Betty cringes (out of habit), but she knows her mother’s zonked out on her sleeping meds. No noise will rouse Alice Cooper from her drug-fuelled slumber.

 

“I'm serious though,” he starts, “I think it'll be easier to think if we're out of town.”

 

She bites her lip, because once again he has a point. “We’ll be out of sync with the motel bookings if we leave now.”

 

Jughead sighs dramatically. She knows that while he's in favour of the general concept of The Plan, he's not in support of the finer details. Betty's a journalist, she's detail oriented. Whereas Jughead is the kind of writer, whose main focus is the themes, the tone and the characterisation of his work, he doesn't plot. Instead, he's more than happy to let his characters run wild.

 

“Wanna come to the trailer?” He asks. “It'll stop you from staring out the window.”

 

“I won't stare out the window.” Her words fall short as her eyes flit over to Archie's window.

 

“You'll keep staring out your window to see if he magically returns. It's not gonna be like that Taylor Swift music video.” Jughead cocks his head, thinking. “Love Story?”

 

She remembers being ten years old and watching the iconic music video for the first time. It's painful to admit that she's been praying ever since that Archie might hold out a sign reading the three words she covets so much.

 

“You belong with me.”

 

“Aww Betty,” Jughead coos, voice dripping with his usual snark and sarcasm. “You belong with me too.”

 

She grabs a pillow from the foot of her bed and whacks him with it. Jughead cowers and shields himself with his arms.

 

“I yield, I yield,” he says, trying to catch his breath from all the laughter.

 

Betty drops the pillow and sits opposite Jughead.

 

“I can agree to that. We can spend the night, rest up at your place and then head out tomorrow, without deviating from The Plan any more than we already have to,” she says.

 

With that agreed, the duo haul Betty's bags, full of snacks (for Jughead) and clothes into Jughead’s truck. Betty gently places the last bag in the back seat. For extra safety, she buckles the seatbelt around the bag, like the passenger it is. She inhales and pinches her eyes shut for a second, and the finally exhales.

 

The Plan is a go.

 

***

 

**Day 1**

 

As stipulated by Betty's insane scheduling, they set out at 6 am, just as the sun rises. The sky is a brilliant orange, red hue as the sunlight breaks through the darkness. The horizon is filled with nothing but sky and road. Windows rolled down slightly, the cool morning breeze and scent of fresh air wafts into the car.

 

(This is it; they're finally escaping hell on earth. Over the last year, Riverdale has become a ghost town. Every area of town is awash with bittersweet nostalgic memories of better times.)

 

Running away from home is surprisingly easy, Jughead muses when your parents have already beat you to it. Riverdale is finally in the rear-view mirror, and he hopes it stays there, behind him, in the past.

 

He glances over at Betty, who's sitting upright in her chair, fingers anxiously tapping away at the dashboard.

 

“Do you think she'll notice?” she says when their eyes meet.

 

He swallows thickly. Archie leaving had thrown a wrench in their plans, but if Alice Cooper notices what they have done, it would be game over. She'd probably call the police on them.

 

Jughead looks back at the road. “Betty relax. We planned this. You planned this. You left no stone unturned. If she didn't notice two weeks ago, then she won't notice now.”

 

Betty stops gnawing at her bottom lips and nods. “You’re right.”

 

“I always am,” he quips.

 

Betty scoffs.

 

“So Bets, regarding our dear friend Archibald, what's the agenda?”

 

The staccato of Betty's nails tapping the dashboard halts. She shrugs with one shoulder. “I haven't really thought that through.”

 

“No game plan? How are we going to sweep Andrews off his feet?”

 

Her eyebrows knit together. “We?”

 

There's a pause before Jughead speaks as he glances in all his mirrors. There are no other cars on the road. It's just them, the horizon and the thick forest of deep green, pine trees lining the road.

 

“This,” Jughead gestures, lifting a hand off the steering wheel to point at Betty and then himself and then to the bag sitting in the backseat, which makes Betty smile, “is a team effort.”

 

Betty scoffs and rolls his eyes.

 

“Honestly, I feel like we're both gonna end up dating Archie,” he says.

 

Jughead’s never broached the topic with Archie, having been sworn to secrecy by Betty. Although, he doesn't know why it's a secret because her crush is painfully obvious. Hell, even the astronauts in the space station can see that Betty Cooper only has eyes for Archie Andrews. Although they've never actually discussed it, Jughead's always been of the belief that if Betty musters the courage to tell Archie, he’ll realise that he reciprocates her feelings. _Cue the happily ever after and all that jazz._ It's simple really - _how can you not love Betty Cooper?_

 

Her lips twist as she crinkles out her nose. “Jug, you don't even believe in love.”

 

“Honestly, Betty, it's like you don't even listen to me.”

 

She folds her arms across her chest, indignant. Friendship is something she's always prided herself on; Jughead can't count the number of times she's taken his worries on her shoulders, even when she's overwhelmed with her own.

 

“It's not about belief.” He hits the steering wheel for dramatic emphasis. “It's about risk management.”

 

Eyes fixed ahead, he can't see the calculating look on her face, the one where she scrunches her lips and squints her eyes, but it's there. “Isn't that like a banking term? Invest where there's gonna be profit, maximise your earnings.”

 

“Exactly, I'm not going to put my eggs in a basket, if I know someone's only going to crush them.”

 

His parents are the perfect example of how love and relationships, although well meaning, are nothing more than a promise of mutually assured destruction.

 

“You're forgetting that the heart wants what the heart wants.”

 

“The heart is a _muscle_ ,” he deadpans.

 

“ _Jug_.”  

 

“Bets,” he mimics her tone, turning to face her for a second.

 

Giggling, she throws her head back and her hair, which is loose for a change, catches the sunlight. It's painfully picturesque with the orange, red hues beaming through her hair, making it look like woven gold.

 

“You're incorrigible.”

 

He wishes he wasn’t.

 

***

 

The clunky whir of the truck’s engine is grating on Betty's already frayed nerves.

 

“Music,” she exclaims, breaking the comfortable silence. “We need music.”

 

“Archie was supposed to make the playlists.”

 

 _Of course_ , she thinks, _how could she forget?_ Tears stung her eyes as she tries not to dwell on the fact he's not here with them. _On today of all days._ She wriggles her fingers and then squeezes her knees, slowly counting in her head, like her depressingly chirpy grief counsellor suggested.

 

It’s devastating to think that Archie isn't here when she needs him the most. He's always been her priority, and it's painful to think she's not his. She's hoping there's an explanation; there has to be.

 

 _Don't dwell on what ifs and maybes,_ she tells herself, which is probably the only other helpful thing she learned from the questionable counselling sessions.

 

“I have Jellybean’s road trip CD,” Jughead offers, pointing at the glove compartment.

 

“The one she posted to you for your birthday?”

 

Jughead nods.

 

The glove compartment is a disaster zone, full of old receipts, FP’s abandoned CDs and random notebooks (Jughead is always prepared for when inspiration for his novel or for a video might strike). Various items spill into Betty's lap and she rifles through the CDs.

 

“Got it,” she says as she plucks out a case. She recognises JB’s artwork, a cartoon drawing of her, Jughead and Archie, copied from a thumbnail of one of Archie's goofy truth or dare videos. Cartoon Betty's sat in the middle, grinning with her arms around her boys, Jughead’s sporting a frown and Archie's smiling. JB's even captured the fact that Archie’s smile reaches his glistening eyes.

 

Betty flips the cover to see a neatly, written track list.

 

“Her music taste is eclectic.”

 

  1. _Island in the Sun by Weezer_
  2. _On The Road Again by Willie Nelson_
  3. _The Passenger by Iggy Pop_
  4. _Let’s Go Surfing by The Drums_
  5. _I’m Gonna Be (500 miles) by The Proclaimers_
  6. _Fast in My Car by Paramore_
  7. _The Suburbs by Arcade Fire_
  8. _Highway to Hell by AC/DC_
  9. _Dashboard by Modest Mouse_
  10. _Ridin’ by Chamillionaire_
  11. _Don't Stop Believin’ by Journey_
  12. _Adventure of a Lifetime by Coldplay_
  13. _Life is a Highway by Rascal Flatts_
  14. _Drive by Halsey_
  15. _Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen_



 

“She's finally outgrown her hipster pretentious phase and now she's letting herself enjoy everything life has to offer unironically.”

 

Betty puts the CD on and after a whack of the radio, the first song begins to play.

 

“You could take a leaf out her book.”

 

“I let myself enjoy things,” Jughead protests. “You've got me into romantic comedies.”

 

“On the topic of romcoms, where did you get that boombox?”

 

He shrugs his shoulders. “Oh yeah, that - I've been saving it for a rainy day.”

 

“A rainy day?”

 

“Y’know me, I'm a nostalgic millennial. And you wouldn't get the same kick from an iPod or iPhone. There's something quite romantic about the weight of the boombox. It's very symbolic,” he says dryly like there's cotton wool in his mouth.

 

“You'll shock us yet, Jughead Jones, I bet that murder mystery you're writing is actually some soppy romance novel - you could be the next Nicholas Sparks.”

 

Jughead coughs and splutters.

 

“He's a good writer. Have you read any of his books?” Betty asks.

 

He shakes his head vehemently. “Thankfully, not. But you made me watch that Ryan Gosling-.”

 

“The Notebook. Honestly, Juggie, you have to stop pretending you don't know the name of the things I've made you watch. And don't pretend I didn't see you wipe your eyes at the end.”

 

“Me? Cry?” He scoffs, but Betty giggles, because she knows what she saw when they were sitting at the Twilight Drive-In. “Lying in the middle of the road and almost getting run over - that's really gonna make me cry.”

 

She shakes her head, still laughing. Jughead reclines his chair slightly and rests one hand on the wheel and the other on the gearstick.

 

“I can't wait for you to fall in love because you're already such a softie and you're going to be such a romantic.”

 

“In which alternate reality?”

 

She rubs her hands together. “Seriously, when I'm in Columbia, I'm gonna call you every day just to ask if you're in love yet, to see whether you've found the person of your dreams yet.”

 

“Person?”

 

“Didn't want to be presumptive or heteronormative,” Betty says, combing her fingers through her hair.

 

“Fair.” He nods, revving the engine and speeding up.

 

“So Jughead,” Betty drags out every syllable, tasting every letter, “are you in love?”

 

He snorts. “In your dreams, Coop. Literally only in your dreams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed the second chapter!! thanks for the comments and kudos from the last chapter - please keep them coming!!
> 
> when i started writing more of this, i realised that this characterisation of jughead is a bit more upbeat and i’d amalgamated the jughead from the show and the digests together
> 
> and in other fanfics, i used to always ask readers a question (get that interaction going or w/e) and today’s q is: what do you think betty and jughead’s respective music tastes are like?
> 
> come chat to me on tumblr


	3. belly of the beast

_“Been around the world and back this year, told myself I wanna face the fear, but I don’t think I can stand on my own. She’s got eyes like spring, legs like the summer, everybody says she looks just like her mother, but I think she wants that left alone.” - Around the World and Back, State Champs_

 

**Day 1**

 

“Betty,” he says, dragging out her name which can only mean one thing, “I’m hungry.”

 

It takes about three hours for Jughead to cave. (This is a record, he normally lasts about an hour and a half after eating a meal, before succumbing to the beast in his belly.) His stomach rumbles and gurgles. Honestly, Jughead probably needs to see a doctor, because the amount of food he eats is straddling the boundary between amusing and concerning.

 

She raises her eyebrows and casts him a withering look. “Aren't you always?”

 

“My hunger is no laughing matter. If I’m hungry, I can’t focus. You don’t want me to get pulled over for a DWH.”

 

“A what?”

 

“Driving while hungry,” he answers.

 

She doesn't acknowledge the awful joke. 

 

“Will you manage with snacks?” Betty unbuckles her belt and stretches her arm to the backseat towards _another bag_ , containing some cookies she’d baked the day before.

 

“I don’t know if snacks will satiate me. I'm ravenous. Look at me, I'm wasting; I'm practically cachectic. I need a burger and, like, two sets of extra-large fries. Actually, curly fries. I need curly fries and a burger ASAP.”

 

“Don’t worry, I planned for this,” Betty pauses, waiting for Jughead to scoff or snort (he scoffs), “I tried to figure out where all the decent food places would be along our journey for when you got hungry.”

 

“You didn’t?” He asks, his horror only growing as he learns how intricate Betty’s planning over the last few months has been.

 

“Of course I did.” _How else was she supposed to cope with the maddening void in her life?_ “I made a note of all the places that sell burgers on our route because I knew you would start whining like a baby the moment you got peckish.”

 

“I’m a growing boy, it’s a crime to deprive me of nutrition.”

 

Betty rolls her eyes. “There’s nothing nutritional about the junk food you eat.”

 

“Don’t food shame, Betty!”

 

“Food shaming isn’t a thing! And you have to admit that it’s weird that you’re craving a burger at half past eight in the morning, and you only just had breakfast.”

 

“Have you never come across the concept of a second breakfast? It’s like brunch, but you’ve already had something to eat. And anyway since breakfast is the most important meal of the day, it’s double healthy to eat it twice.”

 

“You’re-.” Betty shakes her head, and instead reaches for her phone. “There’s a roadside diner with decent Yelp reviews in about ten miles.”

 

Jughead grins. “Betty, you’re the best.”

 

***

 

When they arrive at the diner, Jughead leaps out of the car, after hooking his camera around his neck. Whereas Betty clambers out slowly, reaching for _The Bag_ in the backseat.

 

“Do you want me to carry…,” Jughead struggles to find the right pronoun to use. _Is it just a bag, is it an ‘it’, is it a ‘she’?_

 

Betty shakes her head, his inability to finish his question probably frustrates her even more. “No, I’ll hold _The Bag_.”

 

The inside of the diner is nothing short of a state. The crimson leather seats are worn and ripped, with pieces of yellow, dusty foam spilling from the crevices. Betty manages a tight-lipped smile at the bored looking waitress.

 

“You two can sit wherever you want.” She waves at them flippantly.

 

Jughead beelines for a window seat and snatches a menu. He needs food now like a fish needs water. (Jones’ men have a predilection for addiction. He’ll take the risks of junk food over alcohol and drugs any day.) Betty clutches _The Bag_ , which weighs about five or six pounds, like it’s a lifeline. Carefully (but doesn’t Betty Cooper do everything carefully and meticulously?), she slips into the booth and seats The Bag next to her. She ensures it’s stable, no chance for it to topple over, before leaning over and picking up a menu for herself.

 

“Oh God, but I also want pancakes, but I also want a hot dog.” There’s a bubbling, ravenous monster that lives inside his gurgling stomach. It craves more sustenance than it can ever get.

 

“I thought you wanted a burger,” Betty says. He peers over the top of the mustard-coloured menu at her. Her lips are pressed together, her eyes brimming with tears that she won't let fall.

 

“I still want that, and the curly fries. But I also want a hot dog and pancakes.”

 

“Typical.”

 

The waitress arrives back. “So, what do you children want?”

 

He wishes he was a child; wishes that the two of them haven’t gone through a lifetime of experiences that have left him feeling old and worn down at eighteen.

 

“Can we have a burger and –.”

 

“I’m sorry, sugar. We’re only serving breakfast.”

 

The waitress, whose name tag reads Amanda, is dressed in a similarly shocking, unflattering shade of mustard. She’s also chewing gum, which clicks and pops in her mouth.

 

His face drops. “Well, I’ll have the full breakfast, with 4 extra hash browns and a black coffee.”

 

“And what can I get you, darlin’?”

 

“I’ll just have a water, please,” Betty says, closing her menu.

 

“You’re only having water? Are you serious?”

 

“Yeah, I’m not that hungry.”

 

Jughead pulls at his beanie and leans across the table. “Betty, are you okay?” He nearly facepalms at the sheer stupidity of his question, but quickly corrects himself. “I mean, how are you feeling?”

 

“It’s been a year and I thought if we left Riverdale and finally got started with The Plan, I thought I would start feeling better, lighter, but I feel-, I don’t know how I feel,” she answers, which might just be the most straightforward answer he’s got from her over the last year. 

 

Jughead bites his tongue. _Silent is another way of spelling the word listen_ , he tells himself and sure enough, Betty continues to speak.

 

“And then Archie, I just, I don’t know, I wish he was here,” she starts, and Jughead takes a deep breath in, bracing himself for the downpour, “I just thought that-. I just feel stupid. I thought I’d finally get the courage to tell him how I feel and he’s not even here.”

 

“Then tell him.” She casts Jughead a _look._ “How you feel I mean. When we see him.”

 

“When?” Betty cocks an eyebrow, turning to Jughead.

 

“Yeah. I mean, we still have our channel and he’s still our best friend, he’s just off somewhere being stupid,” Jughead says, confident. (He knows Archie Andrews like the back of a hand. A brother from another mother. He’s like a child, who’s just learned how to ride a bike. He’ll always wander off, leave you in a panic, but he always returns, especially once he’s fallen over and grazed his bony knees.)

 

Betty hums and nods.

 

“You can profess your undying love for him then,” he jokes, trying to lighten the load. “You can serenade him; I’ll lend you my boombox.”

 

“ _Jug,_ ” she squeaks, leaning over to hit him on the shoulder.

 

“Firstly, Bets, that hurt. Secondly, that reminds me.” He rubs the spot on his shoulder for a moment, before picking up the forgotten camera around his neck. He flicks it on and points the camera in her face. Like clockwork, Betty immediately giggles and covers her mouth.

 

“ _Juggie_ , what are you doing?”

 

“Gotta film this Great American Road trip, film our last adventure,” he says, hoping the distraction will help ease her anxiety.

 

“Are you gonna post it?”

 

“Maybe, I’ll let you veto the final edit if I’m gonna post it on YouTube, mind you that’s if I even decide to make something out of the footage I film.”

 

“I’m sure it’ll be great, Juggie. You’re going to be the next David Fincher.”

 

How Betty manages to be supportive when she’s on the verge of breaking down, he’ll never understand.

 

“C’mon Betty, surely I’m going to be the next Christopher Nolan or Tarantino. They actually write screenplays too.”

 

She shakes her head, still shying away from the camera. She unclasps her hair from her tight pony tail and uses as it as a veil to hide behind. Her hair is all volume and wave. “But I love David Fincher, forget Fight Club, The Social Network and Gone Girl are his best films.”

 

“Sorry! My Prada's at the cleaners! Along with my hoodie and my _'fuck you'_ flip-flops, _you pretentious douchebag_!” The quote rolls of his tongue and her laughter only grows, as she breaks out into a smile (at last) and throws her head back.

 

“You better lawyer up asshole,” she starts, but he joins in and they finish the quote, in perfect sync, in perfect harmony, “because I'm not coming back for 30%, I'm coming back for _everything_.”

 

Their laughter subsides as their waitress slides their drinks and Jughead’s food onto the table. His mouth salivates at the sight. _Finally, some thick, artery-clogging goodness._

 

Betty’s fingers dance across the table to his plate and before he’s even registered it, she’s pinching one of his hash browns.

 

“Excuse me, did you just-?” Jughead’s mouth gapes wide.

 

“I didn't do anything,” she says, tearing a piece of hash brown and popping into her mouth. He’s momentarily distracted by the cherry red of her lips. He blinks, trying to regain his senses.

 

“Betty Cooper, did you just steal my food?”

 

She nods glibly.

 

“I will fight you if you ever dare to touch my food again,” he threatens.

 

She smirks. “No you won’t, Juggie.”

 

After pinching even more of his food, Jughead is on the verge of snapping. He catches the waitress’ attention as she breezes past.

 

“Can we have an extra-large milkshake with whipped cream, please?” he asks.

 

“What flavour?”

 

“Your best flavour, please,” Jughead says, pushing his empty plate away from him.

 

“Comin’ right up, sugar.”

 

Minutes later, she returns with a banana chocolate milkshake and places it front of Jughead. He slides the milkshake towards Betty.

 

“Jughead, are _you_ sharing your food with me?” she asks, feigning shock, her eyes glancing down at the two straws floating in the milkshake.

 

He shrugs, full-body, lackadaisical. “I might be, but only because milkshakes are your comfort food. But if you ever mention this to anyone, _I will look for you, I will find you and I will kill you_.” 

 

“Sure, whatever you say, Liam Neeson,” she says, taking a sip.

 

Her eyes fly shut as she licks her lips, savoring the taste.  “Okay, hear me out, this might just be better than Pop’s. It’s magical.”

 

“That’s blasphemous.”

 

She pinches the second straw between her fingers, holding it up to Jughead’s mouth. He takes a sip, slowly at first, tentative and unconvinced by her claims. His eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

 

“Told you.” She puts the milkshake down, exactly halfway between them, perfect sharing distance (an art they’ve perfected for all the times they’ve shared a shake when he couldn’t afford one).

 

He has to agree; it does feel a little bit like magic.

 

***

 

With Jughead well fed, Betty comforted (momentarily) by her magical milkshake and _The_ _Bag_ strapped in securely, they hit the road again. Betty ends up finding a mixtape that Jughead made years ago. It’s an apt choice, since it’s full of pop punk songs about hating your goddamn hometown and wanting to get the hell out of there.

 

Four hours out of Riverdale, the adrenaline rush wanes and the guilt sets in. Months and months of planning have all culminated to this, this trip, this getaway and she’s getting cold feet. Betty’s heart’s racing; her fingers shake as her thoughts spiral.

 

“Jughead-,” Betty’s voice is small, crushed under the gravity of the situation, “We should go back and we should put-.”

 

“We are not putting anything back,” he cuts her off, his voice stern.

 

“We _stole_ -.”

 

“One man’s freedom fighter is one man’s terrorist.”

 

“I don’t know how that applies to this situation at all,” she lies.

 

Betty knows exactly what he means, but she’s not sure what the ethics of a situation like this is; _Is it justifiable to steal your sister’s ashes to fulfill her last wishes?_

 

“Legally, it doesn't qualify as theft. You can't steal a person.” 

 

"Then, what are we doing? Kidnapping? Grave-robbing?" she snaps. 

 

The cogs spin in his brain as he fishes for better words to say. “The most important thing is what would Polly want?”

 

The answer sticks in her throat, but she knows that they're doing the right thing. (Grief is like a shipwreck in an endless, raging storm. The waves keep hitting, relentless and Betty feels like she’ll never catch her breath again.)

 

Jughead reaches over the gearbox to place his hand on hers, and her fingers thread into his. (The waves slow down, just for a moment, and Betty takes a deep breath.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank y'all for all your feedback!! please keep it coming!
> 
> question for this chapter: where do y'all think archie has wondered off to?
> 
> lots of love,  
> hi :)


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